


On the Turning Away

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Getting Together, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Recovery, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: Tony's new relationship with Steve is going great.  They're a few weeks into it, and it's utterly amazing.  He's feeling better and more sure of himself than he ever has before.  Honestly, he's flying high.But then he asks Steve a simple, logical, and seemingly innocent question: "do you want to spend the night?"  And everything comes crashing down.





	On the Turning Away

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _The Avengers_ , _Iron Man_ , and _Captain America: The First Avenger_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** M (for language, violence, adult situations, mentions of past rape)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I have no excuse for this. I set out to write something short and fluffy (or at least less angsty?) for my first entry for the Cap/Iron Man 2018 Bingo. I completely and utterly failed. This is long, angsty, and pretty dark. It's also for the square "sharing a bed" on my card. Or lack of bed sharing, as it turns out, for sad and difficult reasons. Yeah. Like I said, I don't know what the heck happened.
> 
> Warnings for discussions of past rape and its emotional impact. I've seen a couple of stories exploring Tony's prior traumas coming into his relationship with Steve, so me being me flipped it around in this fic. Thanks to junker5 for helping out with this!

The first time it happens, Tony doesn’t really think much of it.  After all, they’re only a few weeks into seeing each other, and it’s not like he expected Steve to just hop in the sack with only a few timid kisses under their belt.  Hardly.  And it’s not like Tony _wants_ that either, though if it were to happen, he certainly won’t be upset.  On the contrary, he’d consider himself just about the luckiest man alive to find Captain America sharing a bed with him.

But this first time…  Well, Tony doesn’t even realize what’s going on, to tell the truth.  They’re sitting on the couch in Tony’s penthouse, the remains of a huge dinner there on the coffee table in front of them and one of the (many) movies Steve hasn’t yet seen playing on the massive flat-screen TV.  This is their…  fifth date?  Sixth?  Not that Tony Stark dates, but he’s making an exception for Steve, because Steve comes from a different era, and Steve’s just been newly awakened in _this_ era (he’s only been out of the ice for maybe six months now), and Steve’s, well…  _Steve._   Tony spent all this time in his life hating Captain America, convincing himself that Steve Rogers was a liar, a stupid, dancing puppet, a bastard, an idiot with a spangly outfit and a shield who can’t possibly be worth everything Howard Stark sold to bring him back (which is namely Tony’s childhood).  The bitterness, anger, and resentment were always there, from the moment his father missed his first birthday when he was just a little boy to the moment he first met Steve in a plaza in Stuttgart, Germany.  It was there, and it was so strong, and Tony clung to it like a man seeking his vices.

The funny thing is, though, that moment where he first met Steve and every moment after it…  All that hatred just vanished.  Given it was a part of him for so long, intrinsic almost to who he was and how defined heroism, it was pretty shocking at the time that it could disappear like it was never there at all.  Of course, Tony being Tony, he had to act like a complete jerk afterwards (though, in his defense aboard that SHIELD helicarrier, Steve wasn’t exactly all hugs and rainbows either, the impact of Loki’s scepter notwithstanding).  After the battle, after nearly dying putting the Chitauri out of business, after shwarma and the Avengers becoming a real thing and rebuilding the Tower and the team moving in…  Yeah, hanging onto that self-defensive assholishness was all but impossible when, for the first time Tony’s whole life, he feels wanted and truly respected, like he’s part of something good, something _bigger_ than himself.

And Steve’s a big part of that.  Steve who’s not a liar, not a dancing puppet or a bastard, not an idiot with a shield or the government’s stooge.  Steve who’s every bit as loyal and brave and good-hearted and strong as Tony’s father always claimed.  It didn’t take long at all for Tony to realize that, and it didn’t take long _at all_ for them to become friends.  Leading the Avengers together is a huge job, logistically and financially and tactically, and it’s one that’s really made them close.  Steve calls the shots on the field, and Tony provides the tech and the resources (and his opinions, which he knows Steve has really come to respect).  They _both_ work _together,_ and it’s been going great so far, better than it has any right to.  Far better than Tony expected.

After weeks of everything flying high, of strengthening this new and exciting connection between them, of learning even more about Steve ( _not_ about Captain America, because Steve isn’t just the man behind the shield.  He’s far more than that), they’ve fallen in together like two peas in a pod.  Long nights laboring over designs and plans and battle strategies, even longer days fighting bad guys and then standing side by side to address Fury and the press, hell, _the world_ …  That tends to forge deep bonds.  They abandoned the last vestiges of tensions and talked, really talked, and got to know each other over pizza and burgers and beer and movies and video games.  Sparring in the gym.  Laboring over plans.  Laughing late into the night.  All the sudden their fledgling friendship started to become something more, something _wonderful_.  That feeling of being part of something bigger, better, more special…  Tony quickly came to realize that it all centers on Steve.  His ego’s not so big that he can’t admit it to himself.  This, all of this, is because of Steve.

Not that he doesn’t enjoy the rest of the team, because he does.  He really does.  This crazy, disparate, amazing group of warriors and assassins and scientists is quickly becoming his family.  Banner’s proving to be a great friend and kindred spirit.  Thor’s a riot; he’s endless fun (and endlessly fun to tease).  And the assassin twins are cool, sharp and deadly and he’s pretty sure Natasha’s killed more people with her thighs than he ever has with Iron Man’s entire arsenal.  Plus he’s not going to sell himself short.  He’s the one coming up with the ideas, funding this whole crazy adventure.  He’s the one making the Avengers Initiative truly fly, and he knows it.  Everything’s working because they’re _all_ a part of it, and Tony appreciates that in the core of him.

Still, Steve’s more than any of that.  He’s more than anything, because Steve’s becoming _everything_.  One day a couple weeks ago when Steve came down to his workshop to bring him some pizza, they looked over the schematics for the new quinjet together, and Steve was leaning over his shoulder at the holodisplay, eyes wide and impressed as Tony chowed down pepperoni and explained all the features he was putting into the jet’s design, and when Tony turned to see his reaction, their faces ended up so close together, Steve’s beautiful blue eyes and strong jaw and plush lips…

Kissing Steve (and Steve kissing him) surprised the hell out of Tony.  He never really thought about Steve this way before, not consciously anyway, and right then, right there, everything just… _clicked._   It all fell right into place, which was funny because Tony never realized any of it was really _out_ of place before.  It was one of those things, where you don’t know what you’re missing until you have it.  Standing there, kissing Steve Rogers, was like the puzzle piece finally and at long last slipping into its proper position, and suddenly Tony _knew_ things were going to be okay.

Of course, the doubts came surging up.  They always do with him, particularly when he realizes he actually cares about something or someone deeply enough that the thought of losing that person honest to God terrifies him.  In that split second where Steve’s lips touched his, everything rushed to surface, and suddenly the man he’s spent a lifetime despising is far, _far_ too good for him.  He’s made too many mistakes, hurt too many people, lived a callous, selfish life, and he’s only beginning to realize right then just how callous and selfish it’s truly been.  Now that he’s seen how amazing Steve really is, he knows he’s not worthy of it.  Plus there was that whole “Steve’s from an older era” bit.  Steve couldn’t possibly be okay with this.

But Steve kissed back.  _Steve kissed back_ , and after the shock of the first seconds, he kissed hard.  Things quickly progressed from there.  They stuck the term “date” on the time they spent together, when they aren’t working that is (sometimes even when they are).  And Tony’s been wooing Steve with everything he’s got.  Normally he doesn’t take the time to do this; his relationships have almost always been easy hook-ups, one-night stands and the like, sex with no strings attached (and frankly no interest in attaching them).  It was always about the good time, the pleasure, getting drunk and enjoying himself with no consequences and no cares.

With Steve, though?  He wants to do this right.  He _needs_ to do this right, because he realized from that first shocking kiss that this is it for him.  He loves Steve.  He wants Steve to love him.  It’s another one of those things, those trite but often true sayings: _you don’t know what love is until you’re in it._   He’s never known it before, what it is and what it does, and it’s so new and exciting.  He’s _in_ love, and he’s in deep.  It should have been an earth-shattering moment when he came to recognize that, but it wasn’t in the least.  It wasn’t because part of him knew for months, but more than that, it wasn’t because _this is what he needs._   It’s what they both need, he thinks.  At least, he hopes so.  Tony longs for comfort, for stability, for someone to understand him and soothe his hurts and weather his storms with him.  He knows Steve can provide all that, and he wants to provide whatever Steve needs, be it acceptance in this new era or someone to help him learn everything he’s missed or someone to be at his side as he grieves for what he’s lost.  _Whatever_ he needs, Tony wants to give it to him.

Frankly, he wants to give him everything.  And he has been.  He hasn’t been shy about gifts, offering Steve new clothes, a new watch, a new motorcycle for crying out loud.  New art supplies (Tony loves that Steve’s an artist; he knew before from all the biographies he’s read on Captain America and from what Howard told him in the past, but actually seeing it firsthand, Steve sketching in the day’s new light with a smile on his face and million memories in his eyes…  It’s incredible).  He’s been spoiling Steve, and Steve’s been… _okay_ with it, it seems.  Tony worried when he really started (well, Natasha pointed the fact out to him, he’s ashamed to admit) that Steve would be uncomfortable living in the land of plenty (and with having a billionaire for a boyfriend).  After all, Steve grew up poor, destitute, utterly impoverished really, in one of the most financially unstable periods in American history.  So throwing all this money and extravagance at him was bound to make him uncomfortable.

It doesn’t seem to, though.  That was pretty shocking at the time, but Tony didn’t think twice about it and just went ahead with his need to pamper and spoil Steve rotten.  And then it occurred to him a little later, after a very public trip to Yankee Stadium to see Steve’s precious (and now relocated) Dodgers play, that maybe the craziness that followed Tony everywhere would upset him.  Again, Steve’s modest, quiet, and serious.  He’s difficult to read sometimes and not the type to enjoy adulation and attention like that.  However, this too appears fine.  At the game that night, Steve was relaxed despite the cameras waiting for them, despite the paparazzi dogging their steps and the pictures that (of course) went viral the next day.  Tony feared the worse when JARVIS showed the news story was trending, that the internet was abuzz with speculation and endless chatter and commentary, but Steve took it all in stride.  He was really low-key about it all (as he typically could be), and that should have been a relief.

It wasn’t, though.  It just sent Tony back to worrying about his initial concern: Steve wasn’t really comfortable having a relationship with another man.  He came from a different time, when this sort of thing was considered by almost everyone to be a sin or a crime or worse.  It’s prejudiced bullshit, then and now, but maybe he doesn’t know society isn’t what it was.  Therefore, it had to be bothering him, with the media all over the pap shots of them holding hands, of Tony leaning just a bit into Steve’s side, of Steve smiling a smile that didn’t at all seem to be representative of “friendship”.

Of the two of them kissing.  That’s pretty irrefutable evidence that Captain America and Iron Man have a thing going on.

But Steve _still_ doesn’t seem upset about it all, that a fairly private moment’s out for the world to consume.  In fact, Steve’s been really calm and happy and engaged with this whole thing.  He’s been all in, in fact, and Tony’s been totally thrilled.  So far, so good.  So _very_ good.

Thus this night, the first time Steve pulls away, shouldn’t bother him.  It _doesn’t_ bother him.  They’re sitting on the couch, bellies full of delicious Thai food and snuggled up together in the dim lights, when Tony just blurts out what his sleepy mind is thinking.  “You want to spend the night?”

He’s got his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve’s arm is around his back, so they’re too close for him not to notice the tiny way Steve stiffens.  “No, it’s okay,” Steve murmurs after a beat.  Tony can’t really see his face, and he’s too tired (and a little tipsy) to really think to lift his head and look.  “Movie’s almost over, and it’s late.  I should get back.”

Tony hums.  “You don’t have to, though.  No work tomorrow.”

That’s true, but Steve simply stiffens again.  It’s hardly anything, a barely perceptible twitch of his muscles.  Tony’s hazy and drowsy enough that he questions if it happened at all when Steve kisses his hair.  “It’s fine.  I should go.”

So he does go, and Tony barely drags himself to bed, and he doesn’t think twice about the whole thing.

To be fair, the second time it happens is also not all that weird or alarming or even notable.  They’re working long into the evening in one of Tony’s workshops, so long in fact that it’s that gray area where it’s too late to be nighttime but too early to be morning.  Despite his sleep issues, insomnia, and self-proclaimed superhuman resistance to fatigue, Tony is dead on his feet.  This is after a long battle in LA, a _really_ long battle, and he’s sore and exhausted.  The damn debrief with Fury went on way too long before this.  He and Steve are closing up shop, and he’s barely functioning.  Steve is cleaning up the last of their files and shutting things down when Tony offers, “You want to crash here with me?  I don’t mind.”

Steve goes still a moment.  “I’m alright.  You can go, though, if you want.  I can finish up.”

“Your floor is too far away,” Tony whines, leaning into him.

Steve laughs a little, but it seems a tad off.  “It’s ten flights down with an elevator to take me there.”

Tony melts into his arms, yawning and rubbing at his face.  “But I have a suite here.  Not that I ever use it, because I don’t ever need sleep when I’m working…”  Steve grunts, giving a fond and knowing roll of his eyes.  “But there’s a shower and I have clothes and toiletries and junk and a real nice bed.  King-sized.  Memory foam, like the super expensive stuff.  So no need to drag your butt, your _very fine_ butt, by the way, down to your place.”

“I don’t mind.”

Tony thinks he probably pouted, but he doesn’t remember for sure because he practically fell asleep leaning into Steve’s chest.  The next thing he knows he wakes up in the suite in the workshop to the bright morning light.  He’s tucked into the bed, shoes off, jeans off (Steve undressed him?), comfortable and cozy and – yeah, wow, this is nice.

Would be nicer with Steve with him, though.  Steve’s not there.  The bed’s warm enough, but not as warm as it should be with another body in there with him.  Clearly Steve (bless his heart) put him to bed and then went to his own suite.

That’s fine.  Certainly waking up to an empty bed when Tony’s last hazy memories of the night before are Steve’s sweet smile, tender hands, and soft voice is a little disconcerting (and disappointing), but it’s okay.  Again, they really haven’t been together that long, so it’s too much to expect Steve to be ready to sleep with him.  Literally or figuratively.

And then there’s the mission.  God, _the mission._   They’re battling an AIM cell in this snowy hell deep in the Himalayas, some place utterly remote and thus difficult to breach.  Things go to shit fast, and Tony’s suit gets disabled.  He barely gets himself out of it before it becomes a death trap, and he and Steve get separated from everyone else, and then Tony gets shot a couple times…  It’s bad.  Really bad.  The rest of the team shuts down the AIM base, but the blizzard that was threatening for hours finally and quickly strikes, and Steve and Tony end up alone with no help, lost and trapped.  Steve carries his limp body to a hut he miraculously finds nestled between the peaks, and there they wait out the weather for extraction.

During the endless hours, Tony drifts in and out of consciousness, but he knows Steve is constantly at his side.  Steve’s bandaging the hole in his shoulder.  Steve’s putting pressure on the bullet wound in his stomach to stop the bleeding and building a fire from whatever he can find.  Steve’s holding him close for warmth right next to the fire, blanketing him with his body, bare skin to bare skin with his strong arms around Tony and Tony’s clothes and Steve’s uniform and a ratty blanket covering them.  Steve’s rubbing his back and his arms and whispering comfort and encouragement, praying and pleading that Tony stay with him.  Steve’s terrified for his life.

Tony’s too lost up in delirium and shock to be scared, too.  When the storm abates and the team comes with the quinjet and rushes him to medical aboard the SHIELD helicarrier, Steve stays with him the whole time, holding his hand tight and continuing his mantra of promises and solace.  Regaining consciousness after surgery is never too pleasant, even with the morphine being pumped into him for the pain, but the miserable experience gets infinitely better when he focuses his aching, bleary eyes on Steve.  The younger man is asleep in what looks to be an extremely uncomfortable plastic chair right at Tony’s bedside, and it looks like he’s been there for a while.  He’s got his chin dropped to his chest, mussed hair flopping over his brow, and he looks young and beautiful and perfect.  Even more striking is the fact he’s holding onto Tony’s hand.  He’s _still_ holding onto to Tony’s hand.

So, yes, waking up to this is pretty incredible.  And, in that moment as he watches Steve sleeping so peacefully, bathed in the dying light of day and practically aglow with the sun hitting him just so…  Tony’s known that he loves Steve.  Right now, in the quiet places of his heart, it becomes utterly undeniable, this surge of joy and elation and excitement that warms him to his core.  He loves Steve.  He’s _fallen_ in love with him, fallen hard, is totally gone, gone over the moon and stars and all that cliched nonsense and he doesn’t even care that it’s cliched and nonsense because _he’s in love with Steve Rogers._

Only now he doesn’t know quite what to do.  He wants Steve like he’s never wanted anything or anyone else, and that only heightens his insecurities.  He’s even more desperate to do this right.  He can’t screw up and be the asshole he has been in the past.  He can’t scare Steve away (though he’s not sure why Steve would be scared away – if he hasn’t been by now, maybe he won’t be?).  He can’t be too direct, too demanding, yet he also can’t be too obsessed in his own things, his inventions and tinkering and the distractions he normally uses to calm himself.  He has to…

“Just be yourself.”  That’s the wonderfully illuminating advice he gets from Bruce (and since when is Banner an expert on relationships?  _Never_ , that’s when).  Still, he realizes that’s what he’s been doing all along.  He learned long ago, after his parents’ deaths and Afghanistan and Obadiah’s betrayal and all the loss and loneliness he’s had in his life, that the most vulnerable state you can be in is being simply yourself.  Hence the partying, the drinking, the sleeping around, the carefree, callous attitude, the spending left and right and living a life of no responsibilities…  Those things are all walls.  Lies, to keep prying eyes from seeing the truth.

He hasn’t been that way with Steve since the get-go because Steve’s already underneath that.  He’s seen through Tony’s defenses and gotten inside.  So being himself, taking things slow…  Waiting rather than rushing into pleasure and casting aside emotion.  That’s new, a little scary, and not at all easy given how impulsive and impatient he can be, but he hopes it’s the right way to go.

Therefore, for the next few weeks, they _do_ take it slow.  That sweet beginning of their relationship continues, grows as it wills, and Tony simply lets it.  They learn more and more about each other.  Tony learns Steve likes his coffee black, that he’s quickly discovered the wonders of putting hot sauce on everything, that he chews his lip when he’s thinking and can, in fact, throw his head back and laugh loud.  Tony learns about Steve’s mother, about how he grew up, about Brooklyn of the 1930s and the hell that was World War II.  He learns about the Howling Commandos (well, more about them – this is another tale with which his father regaled him all the time).  He learns about Peggy Carter and Bucky Barnes.  And he tells Steve things, tells him about his own past with details and emotions he’s never shared with anyone.  He tells him about growing up wealthy and so smart, about how isolating that was, about how his father was never there and his mother tried but could never fill that place in his life.  He tells Steve about Edwin Jarvis and MIT and taking over Stark Industries when his parents died.  He tells Steve about Afghanistan, _really_ tells him.  It’s not easy, but the more they fall into each other, the more it seems the secrets shouldn’t stay hidden.

And they _date._ Tony Stark is dating Captain America.   _Holy shit_ , that’s amazing _._   Every evening they have free, they’re together, and they go out even more.  Tony takes Steve to fancy restaurants, loves watching him eat like every time he sees the amount and variety of food they have nowadays it takes him aback all over again.  He takes Steve to museums, marvels at Steve’s love of art, listens to him talk excitedly about it, and he knows he’s got stars in his eyes but he’s absolutely okay with that, because who cares?  Honestly, _who cares?_   He’s in love with Steve, and there’s not a single part of him that he can bring to be ashamed about that.  He takes Steve shopping, takes him to the opera, to the ballet, takes him on walks around Central Park.  He wants to take Steve everywhere, show Steve the world.

So he makes plans to.  And this marks the first instance where Tony really notices something’s… _off._   Not wrong, per se, not really, but just not as comfortable as it should be.  They’re at dinner at one of Manhattan’s fanciest restaurants, and Steve is all smiles and charm (he doesn’t even realize how damn charming he is, and Tony may melt just looking at him) and talking about the delicious French dinner.  He’s mentioning how Jacques Dernier treated them to some French cooking during the war once when the Commandos ended up waylaid in a small village in the countryside outside of Paris.  Steve says it was incredible and goes on to express just how much he wants to visit Paris again someday, now when the horrors of war and occupation are seven decades in the past.

“Okay,” Tony says, summoning up all his courage as he raises his wine glass to his lips, “so let’s go then.”

Steve doesn’t catch on at first.  He chews the forkful of food he has in his mouth and then swallows.  “Huh?”

Tony knows Steve won’t reject him (Steve’s too good for that) but he’s scared senseless nonetheless.  After all, going away together is a pretty big deal.  A big metaphorical step in their relationship.  “Let’s go there,” he says again as nonchalantly as he can.  He flashes what he hopes is a dazzling smile.

Steve’s forehead furrows.  “To Paris?”

“Yes.”

Then he frowns harder.  “N-now?”

At that, Tony’s determination wavers.  He doesn’t let it show though, forcing more bravado into his smile and tone.  “Sure.  Why not?”  Steve just stares at him, mouth hanging open, and Tony pretends not to see the color drain from his face.  “Think about it.  Eating the _real_ thing.  Seeing the Eiffel Tower.  Going to the Louvre.  Staying in the best hotel the City of Lights has to offer.  No work or worries or anything other than you and me enjoying some time alone together.”

Nervously Steve looks away and gives a jerk of his head.  “I don’t think I can.  I have a ton of paperwork to do, and Sitwell wants me to consult on an op they’re planning in the Middle East.  Plus the Army’s on me again to give a couple presentations.”

Those Golden Generation work ethics are getting in the way.  What else is new?  “All that can wait.  The others can spare us a few days.  SHIELD can spare you.  The Army can _definitely_ spare you.”

Steve shakes his head.  He still doesn’t meet Tony’s gaze.  “What if a call comes in?  We have to be here.”

“No, we don’t,” Tony argues.  “The next alien invasion or terrorist attack or whatever could be anywhere, so it’s not like you’re any closer staying here.  And you are allowed to take a vacation, Cap.”

None of that convincing does a bit of good.  Steve looks pained, like he knows he’s doing something hurtful but he has no choice but to do it, which makes no sense at all.  “I can’t.  It sounds amazing, but I really can’t.”

Tony tries not to be hurt as his heart plummets.  Steve _is_ rejecting him.  Naturally that’s the only conclusion.  They spend the rest of the dinner under a pall of uncertainty and unspoken tension, and Tony hates it.  Was he too presumptuous?  Was that it?  They’ve been together almost six months now, and that seems (and _feels_ ) like enough time to go on a little romantic getaway together, but maybe he’s wrong about that.  To Tony, it’s way too long to take this step, but to Steve?  Again, Steve comes from a time where there was considerably less “hooking up” without commitment (on paper, anyway, and if you believe that opinion about the era, which Tony isn’t sure he does).  Regardless of what it truly was like, though, if _Steve_ believes in those standards or whatever, then maybe Tony crossed a major boundary.  After all, neither of them has said the big L-word to each other.  They’ve kissed a lot, held hands and hugged and cuddled a bit, but other than that, things have been very tame.  And, _again_ , Tony is okay with that!  But maybe there was a subtle suggestion in “enjoying some time alone together” that Steve picked up on instantly, an intimation that Tony wants sex and that was why he asked to take the trip in the first place.

That line of reasoning is a safe thought process for the most part, because it shifts the problem from the answer itself to how the question was asked.  If Steve misinterpreted what Tony’s after, that’s understandable _and_ his fault, and it can be fixed.  Yes, Tony absolutely does want sex, but he has no interest at all in pushing Steve if he’s not ready (or, God forbid, if he doesn’t want Tony that way).  So a couple days later (waiting is hell, but Tony lets the situation sit, though he does apologize right away for being so tense, and Steve apologizes right back and says it’s fine), he tries again to have Steve spend the night in the penthouse.

Things have gone back to normal (this normal in which Steve seems really comfortable but Tony is realizing more and more that maybe he’s not) and they’re watching _The X-Files_ after some pizza.  It’s late again, like it has been many nights before it, but Tony’s not nearly passing out on Steve’s shoulder this time despite the warm, dim light and his full stomach.  He’s awake, alert, and very attuned to Steve’s body language, Steve who looks relaxed and like he’s enjoying the show.  “You want to watch another?” Tony asks as the current episode finishes.  It’s nearly one in the morning.

Steve glances between the TV screen and Tony’s face.  “I’d love to, but it’s really late.  You should get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Tony assures.  Then something occurs to him.  All the times they’ve done this, hung out and had beer and food and unwound from their dangerous, stressful lives…  “You don’t sleep much, do you?”

Steve startles just a bit, but the hint of discomfort is gone in a blink and he’s shrugging.  “It’s the serum.  Don’t need it as much.” 

“Not needing it is not the same as not deserving it,” Tony replies gently but not without a touch of admonishment.  “As you always tell me when I’m working too hard.  Take a break, right?  Take care of yourself.”  _Take a vacation._   That hauls his brain right back to a few nights ago, and abruptly he feels weird and impatient.

“I’ll sleep,” Steve promises, “but probably not for long.  I don’t want to bother you.”

“You won’t.”

Steve doesn’t seem to hear him.  “So I’ll just go back to my floor.”

“But you don’t have to.”  He’s said this before, a couple times now, so it comes out more insistent than he means for it to.  “You can spend the night here.  If you want.”  Steve tenses.  Tony really notices it this time, and that should be a strong good indication that he needs to let it go.  He doesn’t, though he does back off a bit.  Clarifies.  “I don’t mean sharing a bed or anything like that.  That’s not what I mean at all.  I have a guest room.  I just mean you’re welcome to use it.”

All the sudden Steve’s standing, leaning over him, kissing his head.  “It’s okay.  Night, Tony.”

Just like that, he’s gone, and Tony’s left with his jaw on the floor, reeling in alarm.  The TV’s glowing in the backroom, but now the light’s cold, and the whole room feels vacuous and empty.  Tony shakes his head to himself, befuddled and painfully confused and utterly alone.  _What was that?_

A couple more days go by.  Tony works hard not to let the last brush-off bother him; it’s _not_ a rejection, he tells himself over and over.  It’s definitely not.  Steve’s just nervous or guarded or not ready.  Who knows what he’s thinking?  And that’s fine.  It really is.  Steve’s entitled to feel however he wants to feel.  Tony also tells himself he can wait, and he can.  He has to.  Steve’s worth it, and this is all part of doing this right.  It’s no big deal.

Only it happens again.  And again.  _And again._   Every time it’s late and they’re together, Steve leaves, most of the time before Tony can even bring up him staying the night.  Tony always plans to offer the couch or the spare bedroom or wherever Steve wants; hell, _he’ll_ sleep on the couch or in the spare bedroom if Steve wants his bed.  Steve never agrees to stay.  As the invitations start to pile up, the brush-offs get sooner and quicker.  Suddenly Steve’s _always_ up and out of the penthouse or the workshop or out of the limo on the way home from wherever they went before Tony can even ask him if he wants to stay longer.  It’s awkward and uncomfortable as hell, this sudden shift in their dynamic, and Steve’s not doing a good job at masking how much he’s avoiding the situation.  Now he’s rushing to end every date before Tony can even open his mouth.  He barely even kisses Tony goodnight anymore when hastily making an exit.  It’s upsetting and disturbing and all kinds of worrying.  The unavoidable and dreaded _end of the date_ quickly becomes this looming threat, and it overshadows almost everything they do together.  The inevitable sharp, sudden conclusion puts a damper on the entire experience before it’s even started.

Tony’s too scared to question Steve about it (hell, he’s too scared to even mention it).  He’s afraid if he says something, it’ll ruin everything.  It’ll make Steve feel bad or himself feel worse.  It’ll confirm the fears that are really starting to get the better of him, fears that Steve truly _is_ rejecting him.  That’s the truth underneath the tense smiles and worried glances.  Steve keeps agreeing to go out with Tony because he has nothing better to do or because it’s polite and proper or because ( _God, no_ ) he _pities_ him.  Poor Tony Stark’s all alone, and he was stupid enough to think Captain America could want him, so this whole show is just the slow slide of Steve letting him down gently.

No, that’s not Steve.  Steve wouldn’t do that to him.  Back there when Tony got shot and Steve was trying to keep him alive while they waited out the blizzard for extraction…  There were tears in Steve’s eyes and there was desperate fear in his voice, and he held Tony so tightly against him.  He begged him to hang on.  _Begged._ That was real.  It wasn’t delirium from shock and blood loss or a dream.  Steve felt something for him, something deep enough to drive that amount of fear into him over the prospect of losing Tony.  Tony _can’t_ have imagined that! 

So there’s no way Steve’s just blowing him off.  Furthermore, Steve seems… really troubled, too.  It’s getting more and more obvious.  If he is just humoring Tony, he’s doing a really poor job acting nonchalant about it.  He looks tired.  Whenever they’re together, he’s distracted, tense, edgy.  _Scared._   That’s the best word Tony can come up with to describe it.  Steve’s scared, though of what Tony can’t figure out.  What does he have to be afraid of?  What could possibly be bothering him so much that he’s quiet during dinner and barely touching the fancy food he once devoured?  Silently, listlessly roaming the Met where he used to examine every work of art with such excitement and fervor?  Quietly brooding in the park where he used to smile and laugh and eat ice cream like it was going out of style?  Staring at nothing, not paying attention _at all_ when not long ago he was laughing and asking questions and _engaged_ in anything and everything Tony did and said?  Hanging on Tony’s every word?

What the hell _happened_?

Tony can’t bear to ask.  He can’t bear to find out that he did something wrong.  It doesn’t seem possible, but somehow, in some way, he fucked this up, and Steve doesn’t want him anymore, if he ever did.

The last weeks have been like the slow, agonizing death of something that was once beautiful, and Tony just doesn’t understand it.  The awkwardness is poisoning everything.  To make matters worse, suddenly they’re not going out as often.  Suddenly Steve is busy, or Steve has work to do, or Steve is tired.  That one in particular is a laugh (a really bitter, hurt laugh) because Tony knows for a fact Steve’s hitting the gym a lot at night, pulverizing punching bags and doing push-ups or pull-ups or jumping-jacks like it’s going out of style and running lap after lap on the indoor track until it seems like the soles of his sneakers will wear out before he does.  Maybe it’s an invasion of privacy (and a tad Orwellian) to have JARVIS keeping tabs on him like this, but Tony can’t help himself.  And Steve’s not sleeping.  JARVIS is noting that, too.  He’s up all night sometimes (Tony can’t bring himself to spy on Steve during these periods – that seems too immoral, even as obsessed as he is with finding out what’s wrong).  Tony knows _something_ is wrong.  He knows everything Steve’s said to get out of their dates is a lie, an excuse, and it doesn’t seem at all like Steve to be doing that, but here they are.

Their promising start is just falling apart.  The excuses are the logical next step of the decline.  Every time Tony invites Steve some place now, he comes up with some reason not to go.  Every time Tony suggests dinner, he has a way to get out of it.  The rest of the team notices, of course.  They’ve been firmly in their court about this whole relationship thing from the get-go.  Right at the beginning, with all the bickering and unresolved tension, Clint even told them to “get a room” or “get killing each other over with before I put an arrow in both your asses”.  Needless to say, Cupid’s stupid shot struck true (that joke unfortunately made the rounds back then), and the team’s been downright proud to see Steve and Tony hitting it off so well.  The two of them were practically attached the hip, so close and so _happy,_ and the Avengers were happy, too.

All the sudden everything turns tense and terrible, and it’s obvious their friends don’t know what’s going on.  They keep turning to Tony for an answer, and Tony doesn’t have one to give them.  He’s gone over and over it in his head, pouring over the problem, trying to tease it apart and _fix_ it, because that’s what he does.  He fixes things. 

He doesn’t know how to fix this.  He doesn’t even know what’s broken.  Relationships aren’t like engines he can pull apart and put back together with all the damaged parts repaired.  Relationships aren’t lines of code that logically flow one into another and that he can easily debug.  Relationships aren’t equations that must be balanced, that should be solved.  He’s never been good at the emotional stuff, not nearly as good as he is with tools and computers and bots and machines.  It just frustrates him.  That’s the best word to describe all of this.  _Frustrating._  

It all comes to a head a few days later.  It’s after another team meeting, and Steve has been very tense throughout it.  Uncomfortable and standoffish and hypervigilant and just not himself.  Everyone’s noticing it, no matter how much he’s trying to soldier on through the mission briefing.  He seems somehow different from the man he was a couple weeks back, and Tony can’t make heads or tails of it.  The rest of the group is looking to him for an explanation, surreptitious glances that speak volumes of how worried they are, but it’s not like Tony knows.  It doesn’t seem reasonable that all of this, Steve seeming so odd and out of sorts, can be from Tony asking him to spend the night a few times.

And it gets worse.  Tony’s own sense of patience is wearing thin, exacerbated by his concern and anxiety with the whole mess, and he’s about had it.  He’s not typically for the direct route when it comes to feelings, but he doesn’t see any other option.  Days of trying to figure it out have left him exhausted and angry.  So after the meeting, he decides to be bold and blunt.  He pulls Steve aside.

It’s pretty obvious Steve has no interest in talking to him.  At first, he attempts to ignore him, going over some data on his StarkPad that they’ve already gone over as a group, and Tony has to bite his tongue to keep quiet until Steve submits to the conversation.  “I just want to know if you’re okay,” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Steve says quickly.

If that’s not the most predictable (and stupid) response ever, Tony doesn’t know what is.  “You really don’t seem it.  In fact, you haven’t seemed okay for a couple weeks.  Something going on?”

“Nope.”  The plain brush-off again.  Steve could win a gold in the Bullshit Olympics.

“Was it something I said?”

Steve plays dumb.  At least, it seems to Tony he is.  “What?”

Tony’s control is slipping further.  They’re alone in the conference room, but he lowers his voice all the same.  “Did I say or do something that upset you?”

Steve _finally_ looks up from his StarkPad and makes eye contact.  It’s fleeting, barely anything, not at all the sort of confidence and bravery for which Captain America is known.  “No!  No.  Of course not.  Why would you think that?”

Tony can hardly believe it.  Is he really this blind to how things have been lately?  Or _this_ desperate to preserve Tony’s ego?  That has to be it.  “Because we’re hardly hanging out anymore.  Because you never seem interested.  Because you bolt as soon as you can whenever we do go out.”  Steve flinches, and Tony’s heart aches.  “Because…  Because you tense up every time I get close.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head.  He looks so damn shaken.  “Tony…”

This is… weird.  Weird to be the one forcing this issue and asking these questions.  Tony’s usually the one with the relationship problems, the one who’s pulling away or pushing other people back.  He surges onward, though.  His insecurities allow him no other choice.   “You’re doing it now.  You’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not.  I swear, I’m not.  I just don’t have time to spend with you lately and–”

“Oh, I call bullshit on that, Steve.  Come on.  Please just talk to me.  What happened?  What did I do wrong?”  Steve doesn’t answer.  It’s maddening.  Tony folds his arms protectively over his chest.  “I felt…  I felt like things were pretty damn good with us.”

“They were.  They are!”

“Then what’s going on?” Tony’s voice gets louder, and he can feel his emotions start to get the better of him.  He needs this.  He needs Steve, has built this new world and this new life around Steve in a sense, and it feels like everything’s slipping away, and he doesn’t even know _why._   “Why are you backing off?  I don’t know about you, but I’ve…  I’ve…”  _Fallen in love with you._   He wants to say it, but the words won’t come, because this is not the time, and if he says them and Steve ignores that or rejects him… 

He shivers through a sigh.  “I really like you.”  Again Steve winces.  He’s not doing a damn thing to hide it.  Tony keeps talking.  “I really enjoy everything we do together, going out and staying in and leading the team and being close and – and _everything._   I don’t want to lose that.”  _I can’t lose it._

Steve looks away.  He’s back to not saying anything.  That’s more condemnation and validation of his fears than Tony can handle.  The beat of silence that comes is nothing short of agonizing.  Tony finally continues, unable to stand the pain.  “Look, you can deny it all you want, but if I did something that’s bothering you, you don’t have to fall on your sword here.  I want to make this right.  Can you please tell me what I did wrong so I can not do it again?”  Still nothing.  It’s like pulling teeth, only this is more painful.  “I suck at this stuff.  You know it, I know it, and–”

“You don’t suck at it,” Steve murmurs weakly.

“And I’m a big boy.  I can handle my mistakes.  I’m better than I used to be with that, so you can talk to me.  I promise I will not get mad or take it personally.”

Steve shakes his head.  The lines of his shoulders are tenser than Tony has ever seen.  “Tony, I mean it.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That just stokes Tony’s ire, because him screwing this up is the only thing that makes any sense.  Without that explanation, he’s reeling.  “Then what’s the matter?  Come on, Steve!  I _know_ something’s bothering you, and I want to fix it!  Let me fix it!”

Steve turns back, and for a moment, Tony swears his eyes are full of tears.  “You can’t fix this.”

That… _hurts._   It cuts deep.  “It’s me, isn’t it.”  Steve averts his gaze once more.  Tony feels his own eyes start to burn.  It’s just what he thought this whole damn time.  He should have known better.  “That’s what it is.  It’s me, and that’s why you won’t say it.  That’s what I can’t fix.”  The pain makes him angrier.  It’s so damn sharp he can’t stop it.  And all the insecurities that have been festering for months spill out of his mouth.  “Just admit it instead of pussy-footing around like this.  You don’t like the attention being with me causes.  You don’t like what people say about us, about you, about you being with me.  And you don’t like the fact that I spend money all the time.  All style and no substance, right?  You don’t like my reputation or the mistakes I’ve made or–”

“No, Tony,” Steve whispers, shaking his head.  “That’s not–”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony snaps.  His voice cracks.  “Right.  It’s time for the ‘it’s not you.  It’s me’ speech.  I’ll save you the trouble.  It’s me, no matter what you say.  I know it.  Don’t give me that shit.”  That makes Steve look even more devastated, which in turn cools Tony’s ire enough for him to think.  Part of him just can’t believe this is happening.  It feels impossible – _no, no, no_ – and he’s asking because he has to.  “Do you…  Do you want to break up with me?”

Hearing himself say the words is surreal.  _Impossible._ Like a nightmare.  However, what’s even worse is the little nod Steve gives after a few terrible moments of silence.  “I can’t be with you,” he says.  His voice is hardly anything at all.  “I’m sorry.”

It can’t be.  It just can’t be.  “No.  No, no.  That’s not…  I…  Steve, come on!  You can’t–”

“Just let it go.  Walk away.  Please.”  Steve’s barely holding it together.  That’s more than obvious.  “Just walk away.”  And with that, _he_ turns away, walks away, quickly and shakily, and Tony’s left alone with his broken heart.

In the days afterward, he can’t even accept what happened, let alone process his grief.  Suddenly there’s this _hole_ inside him where he once felt good and wanted and accepted and appreciated.   It’s damn unbearable, just how isolated and _useless_ he feels on the other side of this.  He tried so hard to do the right thing, wait and be patient and understanding and all that fucking _bullshit._   He even tried to address their problems _before_ they led to the break-up, and it didn’t work.  It didn’t fucking work!  How’s that for irony?  He should never have bothered.  And he tries _so hard_ not to be angry, tries not to blame himself or Steve (people break up all the time – hell, he’s dumped people before and not batted an eye despite the emotional upheaval it undoubtedly caused his partner).  Relationships fail sometimes, and things just don’t work out.

But that logic only takes him so far, because, first, this is the _first_ relationship he’s had in a long time, maybe ever, that he really cares about outside of having fun and having sex, and second, he doesn’t have any idea what went wrong.  It’s gone from really frustrating to infuriatingly mind-boggling, utterly stupefying and seriously upsetting.  Steve just… quit on him.  Ran away.  Tony feels so fucking cheated, so abandoned, so _low._   He wants to know why.  He wants to understand what went wrong, what _he_ did wrong.  His brain never fails in succumbing to obsession, so it’s all he can think about, all he can contemplate, all he can focus on.  He locks himself in his workshop and tries to concentrate on other projects, but everything reminds him of Steve.  The plans for the new arc reactor design he excitedly showed Steve a couple months ago.  Weapons upgrades he and Steve discussed for Black Widow, for Clint.  Thruster changes he tested in front of Steve.  Modifications to the quinjet, to the Tower’s search and tracking algorithms, to the protocols they used to interface with SHIELD, the Kevlar mesh he’s designing for Steve’s uniform…  It feels like Steve _was_ everything and was _in_ everything.  God, Tony can close his eyes and picture Steve talking and laughing and leaning over his shoulder, lips so close and soft and inviting…

“I just don’t understand,” he admits a couple days later to Natasha.  The team staged an intervention of sorts that morning, dragging a whining, groaning, snippy Tony out of his workshop for breakfast.  He hasn’t seen the rest of the Avengers since the break-up heard ’round the Tower, hasn’t seen Steve, though Steve’s not here with them in the common kitchen.  Part of Tony is glad of that, and another part, the bigger part, is so intensely disappointed in that it physically pains him to breathe.  He’s dreamed that it was all fake once or twice over the last few days, convinced himself that Steve dumping him didn’t happen at all.  But it’s pretty undeniable right now, with the team’s glum expressions and the mostly uneaten food and the tension still lingering.  With Steve’s obvious absence.

Tony sighs, slumping more over his coffee cup, hunching his shoulders in defeat.  “I don’t know what happened.  I’ve gone over it and over it in my head.”  He wipes his hands down his face.  “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

It’s clear the team isn’t blaming him, even if they don’t know any more about what broke down than he does.  A few minutes before, while they all picked at their food, the others made small talk to fill the void.  Clint and Thor joked about some inane stuff.  Bruce tried to pull Tony into a discussion of positron emissions, and Tony humored him.  After all that, though, when the food was mostly gone and it was obvious the attempts at levity weren’t working, they all left.

All except Natasha, who’s sitting across from him at the breakfast bar and having her own cup of coffee.  He expected her condemnation most of all.  She’s hard to figure out at the best of times, and she’s never thought too highly of him.  They get along okay, though he’s come to fear her icy wrath more than he fears most monsters and bad guys.  On top of that, she inexplicably formed some sort of friendship with Steve.  It’s probably from all the work they do together for SHIELD.  Frankly, she intimidates the hell out of Tony, and the fact that she’s close to Steve (closer than he is – was?  That’s really upsetting) makes him more than a bit jealous.

But there’s no condemnation in her eyes now.  No, she’s looking at him sadly, cradling her cup between her palms, waiting for him to continue with an open, sympathetic expression on her face.  Tony swallows down the pain.  “Everything was…  It was so good.  It felt _so good._   He seemed happy.  I know I was.  The whole thing was like…”  He shakes his head.  It’s not like him to be honest, to explain his emotions to anyone let alone someone he hardly knows and somewhat fears, but he can’t stop himself.  It hurts too much.  “It was like this dream.  Perfect.  The perfect dream, only I woke up, and it just ended.”

“Did he say why?” Natasha asks calmly.

Tony looks up from his coffee cup and meets her gaze.  He shakes his head.  “If he said why, I wouldn’t be so goddamn confused, don’t you think?”  Her eyes narrow, and he tames his ire, scrubbing a hand roughly through his mussed, unwashed hair.  “It had to be because of me.  What else can it be?  For fuck’s sake, Captain America shouldn’t be dating Iron Man.  Captain America can do better than that.  Captain America _should_ do better than that.  He just finally realized it.”

Now Natasha looks irritated.  “God, Stark, stop.  For being so smart, you’re stupid as hell if you think that.”  Tony bristles a bit, but his anger isn’t enough to dampen a surge of hope.  Natasha squarely appraises him, her eyes so sharp and knowing.  “He’s in love with you.”

Tony can’t bring himself to breathe.  “He…  He said that?”

Natasha’s expression softens again.  “He doesn’t need to.  It’s been obvious.  Before he started with you, he was… lost.  Lonely.  Disconnected.  He was trying to be strong, to pick up the pieces and just keep going, but I could see it wearing on him.  I could see he wasn’t connected with us, with what we were doing, with anything really.  He was functioning but not processing, I guess you could say.”  She gives him something of a tender smile.  “I was relieved you two got together, to tell you the truth.  It’s hard to focus on an op when you’re concerned your mission leader doesn’t have his head in the game.”  That’s clearly her way of appearing distant and nonchalant.  Her words don’t match her eyes or the tone of her voice.

Tony grunts.  “Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint.  And sorry to be such a bummer for team morale.”  She doesn’t know if Steve really loves him.  And if Steve does, why wouldn’t he say it?

Then again, can Tony fault him for not saying it when he himself hasn’t?

Natasha sips her coffee.  After a moment, she says, “Steve’s hard to read sometimes.  It’s hard to see under Captain America.  There’s the displacement; that’s a given.  When he thinks no one’s watching, it weighs on him.  I see it all the time.  But there are moments where…  I don’t know.”

“What?” Tony asks, suddenly more interested and somewhat desperate for her to explain.  Natasha has insight that he doesn’t, and the part of his brain stuck on the puzzle needs her information to help solve it.  She’s one of the best spies in the world, and you don’t get to that position without being keenly observant.  “Where what?”

“Where I feel like there’s more to it,” she answers, and she seems frustrated to not have more to offer.  “That got a lot better when he was with you, but lately?  I feel like it’s worse.  Something’s bothering him.”

And now they’re back to square one.  “This is the ‘no shit’ portion of the conversation.”  She scowls but doesn’t berate him for the comment.  Unhappily, Tony shakes his head.  “It’s something I did.  It has to be.  I don’t care how private Steve can be.  Even if it’s not me, something _I_ did set this off.  Nothing else makes any sense.”  This time Natasha doesn’t argue with him.  She doesn’t say anything actually.  That drives Tony to explain more, not that it’s any of her business.  Maybe talking it out will help him see the issue, though.  He goes right into the only other theory he has.  “I asked him to spend the night at my place a couple times.”

Natasha cocks an eyebrow.  “You did?”

She’s utterly unreadable, which makes Tony feel like he’s really stepped in it.  “Yeah.  It was like slamming the brakes on the evening.  I didn’t think anything of it the first couple times, but he definitely shuts down when it comes to sleeping with me.”  He blushes hot at her knowing look.  He doesn’t know why.  It’s not like he’s ever been shy about his sex life.  “Sleeping at my place!  Not with me, specifically.”

“Point A usually leads to Point B.”

“I thought about that, and I thought maybe he’s not ready for it.  Maybe he’s a virgin, or a virgin with guys, or embarrassed to be sleeping with a guy…”  Tony himself is pretty embarrassed to be talking about _Steve’s_ sex life like this, with what probably amounts to Steve’s best friend and his gal pal no less.  Talk about a conflict of interest.  But he doesn’t stop, because he needs to know.  “I’m out of ideas.  If it’s not _me_ making him upset, then this is all that’s left.”

“Steve’s not a prude,” Natasha declares, “and not ashamed to be with you.”  Tony flushes.  “And, not to trample your ego or anything, but I don’t think you’d be his first.”

That’s pretty shocking.  Until now, Tony’s figured Steve’s hang-up (if it’s not about Tony in particular) _has_ to be about sex.  Even the hint of sex has caused all of this.  Tony’s reputation notwithstanding, sex with someone new can be daunting, and he’s always assumed Steve’s never done it before, or never done it with another man before, which could compound that nervousness a lot.  “You sure?”

“No,” Natasha says, and she has the decency to look a little ashamed about the topic.  “He’s never said anything one way or the other.  But I just…  I don’t think that would be the issue, not specifically.  He’s not some blushing virgin for sure.  Some of the black ops guys we work with at SHIELD are real assholes and crude ones at that.  He’s never batted an eye at anything they’ve said.  He’s just… quiet about sex.  Reserved.  Not ashamed or embarrassed.”  Again, Tony’s brain skitters at that, and Natasha frowns at him, annoyed.  “He’s a soldier.  Soldiers in war get laid when they can, even Captain America.”

Maybe.  But that feels to be in direct contradiction with Tony’s feelings on the matter.  Not that Steve may not have had sex until now (and this isn’t about sex, goddamn it!), but that Steve would be… promiscuous or anything like it.  That Steve _would_ sleep with someone just for the release and the pleasure and the fun of it, no commitment and no deeper feelings.  That just doesn’t seem like him (or maybe it doesn’t match the image of Steve that Tony has built up in his head.  It’s ironic that this image is shining and pure and perfect and in direct contrast to the one he had in his youth, and it’s possible this one isn’t any more realistic). 

Natasha goes on with a tiny quirk of a smile.  “Besides, have you ever known Steve to run away from something that’s challenging?  From something that he thinks needs to be done?  He’s the most stubborn person I know.  You both are.  Stubborn and single-minded.”  That should make Tony feel better.  It doesn’t.  Natasha realizes that, and her grin slips.  “Just…  Whatever’s gone wrong, don’t let this be the end of it.”

“He dumped me, Romanoff,” Tony says, and the words are loaded with pain.  “That’s the very definition of the end of it.”

She frowns.  “You suck at communication.  He frankly sucks at it, too.  You’re sitting here, tearing yourself up over it, when you could try _talking_ to him.”

“Talking to him is what got me dumped!” Tony says sharply.  “I should have known better.  If something had me all torqued up and he’d confronted me about it–”

“Stop,” Natasha gently insists.  Tony settles himself and looks at Natasha, and her expression is surprisingly compassionate.  “He’s done nothing but mope and be miserable or act all touchy and tense.  If he didn’t care about you and your relationship, he wouldn’t still be doing that.  So it’s _not_ over.  Don’t give up on him yet.”

Tony tries not to, but it’s so damn hard.  More and more days go by, and he doesn’t see Steve, let alone talk to Steve, outside of when it’s strictly necessary.  Working together – the professional skeleton of their friendship – seems to be all that’s left.  Everything else has withered and decayed rapidly, leaving stark and brittle bones.  Tony can’t help himself; he’s cold with Steve.  Resentful.  Everything that was so good is gone, and he wants Steve to feel as awful as he does, even if that’s mean and petty.  He’s never been this hurt.  And he’s withdrawing more into himself again, spending even more time laboring alone in his labs and workshops.  Closing himself back off.  He doesn’t need anyone, especially not Steve.  He doesn’t need to feel wanted.  He doesn’t need to feel special or like he’s part of something bigger and better than himself.  If having that means feeling this much pain when it’s taken away, he’d rather not feel a damn thing at all.

This is okay.  He can let it go.  _Let Steve go._

But then comes another mission, the Avengers’ first since the break-up.  This one is in Pakistan, and the Avengers are liberating a town that’s been held hostage for days by a terrorist regime.  The bad guys stashed stolen WMDs somewhere in the village, and the team’s tasked with recovering the weapons while saving the citizens.  It’s a horrific fight, one filled with innocents in the cross-fire, and while their adversaries aren’t particularly dangerous, the threat to the civilians complicates everything.  The stress from recent events takes its toll, too, and the team’s not functioning as well as it should.  Steve and Tony aren’t in sync, aren’t working together like they always have, aren’t even really speaking with one another, and the effects of that ripple through everything.  Pretty soon the battle dissolves into utter chaos with the team scrambling to protect the screaming, panicked people being used as distractions and diversions.  Steve’s overwhelmed with trying to coordinate the fight while evacuating the people and finding the weapons.  He’s shouting orders quickly over comms, contradictory and messy directions, and the rest of the Avengers struggle to keep up.  It very quickly seems like their tenuous grasp on the situation is deteriorating.

It doesn’t, though.  By some miracle, Steve holds it – holds _them_ – together.  He gets control of himself, gets command, and gets the job done.  With Iron Man jetting through the sky and clearing the rooftops of terrorists and their damn RPG launchers, Hawkeye calling out targets from his vantage in a tower just on the edge of town, Thor and Hulk taking care of the enemy Humvees and jeeps terrorizing the streets, Black Widow and the SHIELD teams securing the weapons, and Captain America himself guarding the innocents as they try to clear the buildings, they turn the tide of the awful mess.  The entire experience is nothing short of harrowing, a painful reminder that the Avengers are not invincible and infallible.  Somehow, though, they manage to get everyone out.

Almost everyone.

Tony lands on the dirty, debris-covered street next to Steve, but Steve looks…  Now that Tony’s right next to him, it’s absolutely striking.  Steve’s pale under his helmet, pale and filthy and sweaty, and he’s shaking.  Something’s wrong.  His eyes don’t look focused.  They’re wild, scared in a way that somehow doesn’t have anything to do with battle.  Tony feels shaky himself with how difficult and upsetting this has been, but Steve is worse, rattled, _panicked._   Quickly Tony scans him, Iron Man’s sensors and JARVIS rapidly bringing up an analysis of Steve’s body in search of injuries.  There don’t seem to be any, but Tony can’t deny the terror sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach.  “Cap, you okay?”

“Status?” Hawkeye’s asking over comms.  “Are we clear?”

“Payload’s nearly out,” Widow replies.  “Is the evacuation complete?”

Steve raises his glove to his mouth.  “That’s a negative.”

“Steve,” Tony says, more and more worried as Steve glances around frantically.  “Steve, I think that’s it.   I think…”  The crackle of gunfire that echoes through the buildings is slowing, quieting, because the fight’s ending.  Steve doesn’t seem to realize that, though.  He’s as tight as a coiled spring.  Tony shakes his head and takes a step closer, Iron Man’s boots clanking against the rocky ground.  “Steve?”

Steve whirls, wincing.  Listening.  “You hear that?”

Tony doesn’t hear anything, but before he can say as much, Steve’s off, sprinting through the battlefield that used to be a village.  Startled, it takes Tony a moment to fire the thrusters in Iron Man’s boots and palms to go after him.  Steve’s fast, zig-zagging through the maze-like streets, and Tony can barely keep up even with JARVIS guiding him. What did Steve hear?  What could possibly be so…

_Oh._

There’s a young woman against the side of a damaged building, and she’s screaming loudly.  Two of the terrorists have her pinned to the wall.  It’s more than obvious she’s terrified, sooty with a bloody lip and mussed hair, and the second she spots Steve racing toward her with Tony behind him, she screams for them to help her.

But Steve doesn’t move.  He goes stock still, coming to a stiff, sudden halt.  It’s stupefying, seeing Captain America freeze like he is, and Tony doesn’t understand at all.  This is Steve Rogers, the guy who’s rumored to never back down from a fight, the hero who takes on bullies like it’s going out of style, the living _legend_ who faces down long odds with grit and bravery and determination and inspires others to do the same.

And he’s just standing there with his eyes wide, empty, glazed with terror.

It’s obvious what they terrorists are about to do to this girl.  They let her go, though, and bring up their automatic rifles and point them at Steve.  Steve’s still not moving, not reacting at all.  In that split second, he can take them both out with ease.  He’s done it dozens of times before.  Tony’s seen him mow down enemies like a warm knife through butter, so these bastards pose no threat.

But Steve _still stands there._   He doesn’t move, doesn’t charge forward, doesn’t do anything to stop their enemies and save the girl.  He doesn’t even raise his shield.  He just stares.

And the terrorists fire.

Tony’s heart all but stops for that brief instant, but then he’s moving without thinking.  _“No!”_ he screams, and Iron Man’s thrusters fire harder, faster, and he’s dropping down right in front of Steve to protect him.  The bullets slam into his armor.  At this close range, they’re dangerous, capable of bringing down even Captain America, but to Tony they just smack against impenetrable metal like annoying rain drops hitting an umbrella.  It all happens so fast that he only catches Steve’s eyes a moment; they’re still wide, full of fear, and _not cognizant._

There’s no time to wonder at that.  “Stark!” cries Barton over the commlink, and a second later there’s an arrow slamming into the chest of one of the terrorists.  Tony whirls, raising his palm repulsor, and JARVIS’ aid makes sure his aim in perfect.  In a blink of an eye, both the terrorists are dead on the street, and the girl is watching them with horrified eyes, screaming still.

Clint hops down from the building behind them, landing gracefully with a soft thud.  He still has his bow drawn with an arrow nocked, and he quickly races over to the threat where they’re prone on the dirty, debris covered street.  Kicking the guns away, he makes sure they’re dead before crouching by the yet crying girl.  “What happened?” he demands of Tony where he’s still standing in front of Steve.  “Stark, what–”

_“Don’t touch me!”_

Steve shoving Tony back takes Tony completely by surprise.  With the full force of the serum behind it, the push actually has him stumbling, staggering, and Tony twists to get his balance.  JARVIS powers down his weapons automatically, and Tony comes right back to reach for Steve.

And now Steve’s _punching_ him.  The blow is even harder than the shove, catching him straight across the face, and even though the armor absorbs most of the power, his teeth rattle.  “Shit!” he hisses, staggering again.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“Cap?  Cap!”  Clint’s there, bow on his back, hands empty and up in a show of surrender.  “What’s the matter?  It’s us!”  Steve gives a wordless cry, throwing another punch, this one far sloppier.  Clint easily dodges it, confusion and horror all over his face.  “Rogers!  What the hell?  What’s the matter?”

“Steve!” Tony gasps, side-stepping another strike.  Steve’s shield hits the road with a rattle, and when he punches yet another time, his fist slams into Tony’s chest.  It’s not right, all power and no coordination, and Tony can feel the blow in his ribs, feel it shake him.  _Jesus._ He’s seen Steve fight plenty of times before, trained and sparred with him, and he’s _never_ seen him like this.  Instead of expert control, there’s unbridled panic in every move.  Tony shakes his head, flipping Iron Man’s faceplate up in case Steve doesn’t recognize him.  His mind is racing frantically.  _What is this what happened what what what–_

“Did he get hit with something?” Clint gasps at Tony, backing up further.  Tony has no answers, no idea, and he’s fucking _terrified_.  “Cap, come on!  What’s–”

Steve backpedals, tripping over his own feet, and ends up stumbling into the wall of the building across the alley.  He drops down there, like slamming into the bricks is a sharp indication that he has nowhere to go, and tucks into himself, arms up over his head.  He’s shaking like crazy.  He’s _cowering_ from them.  “Please don’t,” he whimpers.  He’s _whimpering._   “Please…”

“Widow, we need backup here,” Barton’s saying into his comm.  He’s as white as a ghost.  “Cap’s down!”

There’s a brief pause over the line.  “Is he alright?” comes Natasha’s tense voice in their ears.

“I don’t know!” Tony says helplessly.  “I don’t – Steve, listen to me!  Listen to me!”

Steve’s not listening.  He’s quaking so violently it seems it may shake the building, head buried beneath the shield of his forearms, curled up like he thinks if he can just get himself small enough, no one will notice him.  No one will see him.  That’s utterly insane.

 _Fuck,_ _what the hell happened?_

“Steve,” Tony says again, dropping to his knees in front of him.  He doesn’t dare touch him.  “Steve, tell us what’s wrong!  Are you hurt?  Talk to us!”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but a soft, desperate sob hitches in his throat that speaks volumes.  It’s damn deafening, louder than their rushed breaths and booming hearts, louder than the remaining cacophony of the fight.  It feels impossible, that Steve’s like this.  This _this_ – whatever it is – could happen so suddenly.  Clint comes up with the only explanation he can, wide-eyed and shaking his head in shock.  “There’s, uh… a possibility of biologics, hallucinogenics maybe.  He’s out of it.  We need immediate extraction and medical.”

Another pause.  “I’m on my way to your location.”

Everything holds still.  Then Clint chances a step closer, pebbles crunching under his boots, and Steve jerks with even that soft, seemingly innocuous sound.  “Tony,” Clint whispers, shaking his head in horror.  “Tony, what the hell…  We’ve got to get him out of here and get out ourselves.  We’ve got to close down the area.  It’s got to be some sort of bioweapon–”

It’s not.  Tony knows what it is.  He sees it now.  And – _Jesus_ – people don’t see Steve under the mantle of Captain America at all, do they?  Not even their team.  “I can handle this.  You go.”

“Huh?”  Clint tears his gaze from Steve, squinting and staring down at Tony.  “What?”

“I said I have this,” Tony insists more firmly.  Clint frowns in alarm but backs off.  Tony flips his comm back on.  “Romanoff, belay that request.  We do need medical, but stay out of the area for the time being.”

“What?” Natasha demands angrily.  “I need further explanation here!  What’s going on?”

“JARVIS, kill Steve’s comm.”  Tony pulls off his helmet and sets it to the road beside the wall, taking a deeper breath.  He inches closer to Steve, so slowly, because now that he knows what this is, now that he _sees_ it, he knows what Steve needs.  A bunch of people swarming him and demanding answers and trying to help isn’t it.  “Clint, please.  Just let me talk to him.  Get her out of here.”  Tony tips his head to the girl still sobbing on the other side of the street near the dead terrorists.  Clint lingers a moment more, clearly torn and uncertain, so Tony takes a deep breath to steady himself further.  “It’ll be alright.  I’ve got this.”

Surprisingly (to himself most of all), he _does_ have it.  Clint leaves, leading the weeping girl away (she keeps looking over her shoulder at Tony and Steve, wet eyes full of curiosity and fear but most of all gratitude), and when the street is empty and relatively quiet, Tony turns back to Steve.  He stays right there, doesn’t move an inch other than to keep watch over the area.  Thankfully things are quiet; if there are any terrorists still roaming around the village, they wisely stay away.  Tony will blast the hell out of anyone if he or she so much as peak around the corner of the alley.  He keeps one eye on the one entrance and the other on Steve.

Steve stays put.  He’s still shaking so hard, still curled into himself with his head below his hands.  His face remains hidden, but Tony doesn’t push.  He doesn’t say anything.  He still doesn’t touch.  He just sits there in Iron Man in the dust and rubble and waits, keeping guard over the man he loves while he suffers through whatever’s brought him down.  It’s unbearable, one of the hardest things he’s ever done, but he does it, because Steve deserves his patience.

Eventually it pays off.  Tony turns back when Steve’s breathing settles from its raspy, wheezy pants into longer, shivery sighs.  Steve’s got his back to the wall now.  He’s still trembling, but his head isn’t hidden beneath his arms anymore.  Instead he’s pulled his knees up to this chest and his arms are around them.  Even as big as he is, even in Captain America’s uniform with the helmet on, he looks small and young.  Broken.  Tony’s heart feels heavy watching him come back to himself, watching him haul in breath after breath like he’s forgotten how to breathe.  That’s not inaccurate, Tony knows.  Tony knows how much it hurts, how awful it feels.  He knows, and he finally reaches out a hand.

“Don’t touch me,” Steve hoarsely whispers.  This time it’s not dissociated or delirious.  It’s merely a plea.

“I’m not going to,” Tony promises.  He lowers his gauntlet.  “I just want you to know I’m here, okay?  I’m here, and you’re safe.”

Steve still doesn’t meet his gaze, though he’s calming more and more and clearly reconnecting with reality.  Tony stays put, watching Steve shudder through a few more long minutes.  Color’s coming back to Steve’s pale cheeks, and a heavy layer of sweat’s making his face glisten.  Clumsily Steve’s fingers fumble at the clasp on the chin strap of his helmet, and eventually he gets it undone.  He pulls it off and drops it to the road.  His hair’s dark with perspiration and sticking up everywhere.  Tony watches as he relaxes in fits and spurts, struggling with the last vestiges of the erratic fight or flight response.  Again he says and does nothing, just stays a respectable distance away as Steve tips his head back into the wall and blinks loose tears and breathes through the last of his panic.

The first sob shouldn’t be unexpected, but it is.  It is for both of them.  Steve clamps down hard on it, but he can’t hold it back, and the choked cry still escapes him.  Tony watches a moment more, but then he turns away.  Steve doesn’t need him to see this.  He knows if their places were reversed, he wouldn’t want Steve (or anyone) witnessing him in such a low, vulnerable state.  Minutes creep by, torturously slowly.  The sobs get a little louder as Steve loses more and more control.  Tony grimaces at the sound of it, even as restrained as it is.  He never imagined he would see something like this, see Captain America fall apart, but here he is, and he has to see it through, because he loves Steve, and he knows _how much this hurts,_ and he doesn’t want Steve to be alone.  He wants to give Steve this moment to cry, to fall apart, to not have to worry about the act he’s always carrying out, the illusion he’s always portraying.  Tony wants to protect him, even from that.

So he does.  And this passes, too.  More time goes by, and Steve’s quiet, agonized weeping settles down into even quieter sobs, and that settles down into longer, gusty, tremulous breaths.  Finally Steve’s sniffling, and Tony reaches behind him again and holds out his hand.

It’s another moment, but Steve takes it.

A few minutes later, Tony’s leading Steve out of the combat zone and to the SHIELD medical transport waiting just on the outskirts of the village.  Steve’s shield is on his back, and his helmet is dangling from his hand.  His eyes are downcast, shoulders tense, and the entirety of his posture screams shame and defeat.  Natasha has the sense to realize what’s happened without anyone saying anything to her, and she has everyone cordoned off, civilians, captured terrorists, and SHIELD personnel alike.  Therefore, Tony’s able to get Steve onto the quinjet without too much fanfare.

When they get back to the helicarrier, he’s also able to keep medical off them, though Sitwell’s predictably demanding a debrief, wanting to know what happened to Rogers, insisting he get an explanation as to why the leader of the Avengers and the world’s greatest soldier just locked up in the middle of a dangerous battle.  Natasha and Clint run interference, and Bruce (shockingly) tries to distract him, Fury, and the other SHIELD agents with requests to examine the weapons they retrieved, and Thor fairly effectively blocks any access to Steve as Tony quickly herds Steve away from the busier sections of the ship toward the decks with their quarters.

He gets Steve inside his own.  Steve doesn’t seem to care about not being in his place.  He’s quiet, withdrawn, sullen.  Still detached.  Tony also knows how long it can take sometimes for the mind to resync with the body, for everything to settle back into a state of normal.  He sighs, glancing around, and then turns back to Steve.  He’s not touching Steve, hasn’t touched him once since everything happened.  He left Iron Man in its alcove in the helicarrier, but he scanned Steve thoroughly when they were aboard the quinjet.  He’s not hurt, at least not physically.  He is filthy, though. “You want to take a shower?”

Steve doesn’t respond for a moment, looking around too like he doesn’t recognize where he is.  Eventually his blank gaze lands on the bunk against the wall.  Tony’s never used it, never slept anywhere that small, uncomfortable, and ugly.  Steve just stares, like he’s teetering back on the edge of panic again.  “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, quickly, snapping out of it and turning away.  He sniffles, gathering himself with abrupt and remarkable aplomb.  “Yeah.  Shower’s fine.”

Tony’s not convinced he’s okay enough to handle that, despite this sudden show of equanimity.  “You sure you’re alright?  I’ll run and get you some clothes from your place.”

Steve swallows.  There’s a flash of fear there.  Tony’s not sure what’s scaring him more: the thought of Tony leaving or staying.  Or the bunk.  Or all of it.  Everything.  He’s got a strong suspicion of what’s going on at this point, of the source of Steve’s issues.  Finally, he thinks he’s figured it out.

And if his suspicions are correct…  _God._

“I think I’d rather you stay,” Steve finally says in a small voice, and Tony’s caught between being scared that Steve wants him here and being ridiculously relieved.  “If you don’t mind.”  He looks scared too, still so scared, and Tony can’t begin to bring himself to make that worse.

So he agrees right away.  This is what he wanted, after all, to be what Steve needs.  He knows he needs to see that through.  “Yeah, sure.  I’ll, um, find something for you to wear.  I’m sure I have something.”

Steve doesn’t move.  Clearly he doesn’t want Tony to come into the bathroom once he’s in there.  That’s fine.  Tony goes quickly about, scouring the drawers in the room.  He never spends any time here, so he has no idea what’s available.  Thankfully he’s able to procure a clean set of boxers, a pair of SHIELD-issue sweat pants, and a white t-shirt.  Hopefully they’ll be big enough.  He hands those to Steve along with a towel, and Steve accepts them with shaking hands.  Then he hesitates another moment, probably considering again whether this is safe and a good idea, before slipping into the tiny bathroom.  The door locks behind him.

Tony sighs shakily.  He waits.  And paces.  And paces and sighs and waits.  He walks the length of small, gray box that passes for quarters on this ship over and over again, trying not to think too much about how broken Steve really is, about how stupid he was to not have seen it before, about how fucking inadequate he is to be whatever support Steve needs right now.  He’s usually the one screwed up, the one who _needs_ the help.  He’s not sure he knows how to give it, how to be strong and calm and sure, and this is suddenly much more complicated than he realized it could be.  He’s more nervous than he ever has been in his life.  A few minutes into his hellfire of over-analyzing, the hiss of the shower can be heard.  Tony pauses to listen, but there’s only the sound of water, and he relaxes just a bit before turning away.

It seems to take forever for Steve to come out again.  Tony’s on the bed when he does, and as Steve cracks open the bathroom door and sees that, he freezes again and goes white.  That only confirms everything Tony’s been imagining, and he smiles sadly, feeling just a bit like he’s coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding.  “Do you want me to go?” he asks softly.

Steve’s hair is messy and very damp.  He’s clean now, of course, though his skin looks overly pink like he scrubbed himself hard.  Somehow he simultaneously appears soft and vulnerable yet guarded and tense.  “No.  No, I…”  He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does.  “I’m sorry.  For what happened back there.  For what you saw.  It was really inappropriate for me to–”

“Don’t,” Tony says gently.  Steve startles just a bit, still standing partially behind the bathroom door.  “Don’t apologize.  It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve whispers.  For a moment, it seems like he’s about to cry again.  However, he doesn’t, drawing a deeper breath instead, shaking his head almost to himself.  “I’m Captain America.  I’m supposed to lead everyone.  I’m supposed to be better than this.  I have to–”

“Steve, it’s alright.”

“God, everyone saw.  It’s all out there now.”

Tony frowns compassionately.  “Is that so bad?”  Steve glances at him.  He’s increasingly flustered, increasingly frightened.  Tony can practically see his control crumbling.  Whatever this is, it’s pretty obvious Steve’s been hiding it for a while, which, given his personality, is not at all surprising.  “It might help to let it out.”

Steve shakes his head again.  “No.”

“This is going to sound crazy coming from me.  God knows I haven’t been the best with… with being honest about all the bad shit that’s happened in my life,” Tony offers.  Steve raises his eyes and meets his gaze.  “I’ve never been the best about processing how I’ve felt about it.  But it does help to do that.  It helps to talk.”

“We never used to,” Steve murmurs, looking torn and despondent.  “The way I was raised, you just didn’t.  You got back up and moved on.”

“That’s not the way we handle it now,” Tony assures softly.  “People don’t think that way anymore.  Man, woman, whatever it is that’s hurt you…  It’s okay to be honest.  It’s okay to talk.  It’s okay to cry.”  That’s met with a mortified grimace and a pale face abruptly burning red.  “It is, Steve.  And it’s okay to get help when you need it.”

Steve still stays put, blushing and hesitating.  Tony can practically see him teetering.  He swallows down a knot in his throat.  “I know something’s really wrong.  I’ve known it for weeks.  If you don’t want to talk to me about it, that’s cool.  It’s fine.  I can find you someone else.  After Afghanistan, I saw a therapist for a while.  I – I should have gone more, made more of an effort, and I really regret that.  But I can find you someone like that, someone you can talk to.  Or JARVIS can, if you don’t want me to know specifics.  Or I’m sure SHIELD has people on staff to handle this sort of thing.”  He’s rambling, so he stops himself with a bit of a pause to gather his composure.  “The important thing is, if something’s bothering you this much, shutting you down like that, then you should see someone to help you handle it.  They can help you–”

“I was raped.”

A cold wash of alarm and shock goes over Tony at that quiet, weak statement, and for what feels like forever, he just sits there and stares.  He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t do anything else.  Even having expected it, even having figured out that _that’s_ what’s beneath Steve’s pain, hearing Steve admit it is utterly horrifying.  Tony doesn’t know why he feels this way, because it makes sense.  That’s _why_ he expected it, anticipated it.  All the evidence has been right in front of him.  The way Steve stiffens sometimes when he touches him, when they kiss.  How quietly guarded and withdrawn he seems now and then.  Natasha’s assertion that he wasn’t a virgin (which is the right conclusion but for the wrong reasons).  And, of course, the not wanting to share a bed or even spend the night with him.  _And_ what happened today – the obvious flashback, the panic attack – can only herald some sort of deep-rooted trauma.

But actually _hearing_ it is…  Tony’s mouth is dry, and his heart’s shuddering in his chest, and he feels sick with a sudden burst of nausea.  The room spins just a bit, like the world’s tilting on its axis, like _everything’s_ gone off-kilter, and it’s all he can do to keep breathing and not throw up.  He keeps his eyes on Steve, although shame burns him so badly all he wants to do is look away.  Steve _is_ looking away, very clearly mortified at what he’s done, at the door he’s opened.

“Why don’t you sit,” Tony finally manages.

Steve’s face abruptly turns oddly unreadable.  Tony can only think again that he’s wavering again, trying to decide whether to surge forward or retreat.  Natasha’s right about something else, though.  When he’s set his mind to it, Steve never runs away from doing what needs to be done.  And he seems to have set his mind to this, because he comes closer, still hesitantly and with slow, uncertain steps, but he comes all the same.  He sits on the bunk beside Tony when he could have sat at the desk or on the floor even.  There’s a foot of distance between them, as much as there can be on the edge of the small bed, and that feels like an awful lot, but it has to be there.  Right now, it does.

For a long time they’re silent, and it’s miserable.  Tony’s aching to talk, aching to look at Steve, to touch him, to _do_ something to make this better.  Yet again he doesn’t dare.  Steve told him he can’t fix this, and now he sees why.  And he’s not going to push.  He’s not going to suggest or coerce or demand.  He thinks about all the times he touched Steve, kissed Steve, asked Steve for things he wasn’t willing or maybe even capable of giving.  That wasn’t his fault, but he still feels guilty, and now that he knows, he’s not going to encroach on any further boundaries.  Steve has to lead here.  He has to. 

However, as the vacuous quiet drags on and on, Tony wonders if he was wrong about Steve wanting to go forward.  He just sits there, staring at the floor, not moving.  Barely even breathing and blinking.  He does eventually go on, though.  He nervously starts kneading his fingers together in his lap, shoulders slumped and eyes remaining down to the floor and blankly focused on his bare feet.  “I…  I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“What happened?” Tony asks instead.  He doesn’t mean to be so blunt, wants to curse himself out for it after just thinking about holding back.  Steve doesn’t answer.  He’s closing up again; Tony can practically feel it.  He gathers his composure.  “Steve, I promise it’s okay.  Whatever you want, whatever you feel, is okay.  If you want to tell me, tell me.  If you don’t, you don’t have to.”  Tony turns to him.  “But you’ve come this far.”

Surprisingly, Steve’s lips move, like it’s coming and he can’t stop it.  His voice comes out even.  Empty.  “It was October.  A few years back.”  Then he corrects himself.  “October, 1942.  Mom’s been dead a few years now, and Bucky…  He got drafted.  I think I told you that?”  Tony nods.  “He was away at basic.  Had been since the end of summer.  He didn’t want to go because he was worried about me, but I told him I’d be fine.  I thought I would be.  Hadn’t been sick in a while, had steady work, had classes to go to…  I was fine.  Not like he had a choice anyway or that I had a choice.  I could get by on my own.”  Steve swallows.  For all the effort it takes him, it seems like he’s choking down rocks.  That measured tone wavers.  “And for a while, it was okay.  I was lonely, missed him like hell, but I was managing.  Then one evening I…  I was working for a local newsprint company.  Good job, paid well, and they liked my art a lot.  I had to deliver some stuff to them for a deadline that night, so I was walking over there.  It was a warm night.  Lots of people out.  I get past the automat and…”  He swallows again.  Closes his eyes, like he can _see_ it.  “And there’s this alley there, where some of the rougher folks hang out.  They’re always causing trouble.  They were the bad kids growing up, always picking on everyone, and that didn’t get any better when we finished school.  And they’re there, smoking and drinking like they always are, and there’s a scuffle towards the back of it…  I hear a girl crying.  And I stop.”

Tony can’t breathe.  “Like today,” he says softly.

Steve glances at him and nods stiffly.  He gathers himself a bit.  “It’s Eloise Sawyer.  She’s a nice girl.  Was a year behind me at school.  Her mom used to talk to my mom at church every Sunday.  Real nice girl.”  He swallows more and more.  “And they’ve got her up against the building in the shadows.  She’s crying hard, crying that way people do when you know they’re really scared.  She’s telling them to stop and leave her alone…  They’re not stopping.  She starts screaming.  And I can’t just stand there and do nothing while they…  While they do _that_ to her.  That’s what they were gonna do, and I knew it, and I couldn’t turn away and let that happen.”

Of course not.  No one with a heart half as big and a soul half as pure as Steve’s would.  Steve wrings his hands harder.  “So I run over there.  Shout at them to leave her alone.  I push my way into the crowd of them and try to pull them off her.  There’s no way I can.  There are five or six of them, big guys, and I’m…  Well, you’ve seen what I was.”  Small and skinny and scrappy with a heart far too big and too strong for such a frail body.  An easy target for bullies and bastards.  Tony’s seen the pictures.  He knows.

Steve shakes his head, jaw set in anger.  “But I don’t give up.  I can’t let them do that to her.  One of them socks me in the face, drags me off probably to beat the hell out of me, but the whole thing makes such a ruckus that other people hear and see.  They come running to help, and everything erupts into a fight, and soon the police are there breaking it all up. Then it’s over.  That’s the end of it.  Eloise’s alright.  I walk away with just a shiner.  The cops nail the bastards trying to hurt her.  And everything’s fine.”

It’s obvious that isn’t the end of it.  Tony doesn’t say that, though.  He doesn’t say anything, watching Steve work through his emotions.  His hands start shaking more.  Tony watches them.  They’re so big and strong now, not like they would have been before the serum.  He can picture it, how small and thin and breakable Steve was back then, bloody knuckles and black eyes and fragile bones.  Those big hands clench and twist into each other now, helpless and unable to fight.

It seems like Steve’s going to quit, not explain what happened next, and it’s not like it’s not obvious.  It is.  It’s painfully obvious.  “Steve, it’s alright,” Tony gently reminds him.  “It’s alright.”

It doesn’t seem like Steve heard him at first, but then he clears his throat roughly and quickly continues.  The facts aren’t coming so emptily now.  His voice shakes more and more.  “Couple weeks later, I’m walking back down that way.  Another assignment at the newsprint office.  It’s later this time, colder, not as many people around…  And I go past the alley.”  _Jesus._   Tony knows what’s coming.  He doesn’t want to hear it, but he knows he needs to as much as Steve needs to say it.  “And they’re there again.  They’re drunk, stinking of smoke and booze and trouble…  And they spot me walking by.  And I…  I _know._   There’s this moment where I can see the fury in their eyes, the hatred, and I know they’re gonna beat me up for what I did.  I know it before they grab me, before they drag me in the alley.  And I tell myself it’s okay.  Been beaten up before.  It doesn’t hurt that much, and it’s worth it because Elle’s safe, because they didn’t hurt her that way, and bruises’ll heal and I’ll be okay…”

Suddenly Tony reaches over and takes Steve’s hands, stopping the rough, miserable motion.  Steve jerks, chokes on his breath, twists a bit, pulls away.  Tony doesn’t let him.  He gently enfolds Steve’s hands in his own, lets him know he’s there.  They’re going to do this together.  They’re teammates, partners, friends, _more…_   They can do this together.

Beneath the terror and grief in Steve’s eyes, there’s understanding.  A link to the present onto which he can hold.  He stumbles onward.  “Only they don’t beat me up.  They start hitting me, but the big guy who was hurting Elle so bad…”  A tear rolls down Steve’s face.  “He gets me up against the wall.  Tells me I owe him.  Tells me I took away his – his…  Tells me I’m small and soft, enough like a girl.  Tells me I’m gonna have to do what she was gonna do for him, for _them_.  Tells me I want it, that I _deserve_ it.”

“No one deserves it,” Tony says.  He squeezes Steve’s hands.  “No one.”

Steve bits his lip hard.  He shakes his head but doesn’t answer that, hurriedly continuing.  His words get more strained, tangled with emotion.  “I…  I – I know I have to fight them.  I have to.  And I try – I try _so damn hard_ – but I can’t _do_ anything.  I couldn’t save her, not really, so there’s nothing I can do to save myself.  And they know it.  They – they throw me down, hold me there, rip my clothes…  I fight back, kick and scream and bite, but it doesn’t matter.  They just hold me there in the dirt, shove a rag down my throat, yank on my hair and push my face into the filth, hands all over me, and I can’t move, and they get my pants off, and…”

“Steve…” Tony whispers.

Steve stops.  He looks down again.  More tears splatter onto his gray sweats, making a bunch of small, darker dots.  He lets go of Tony’s hand to wipe at his face.  “It…  it hurts a lot at first, but after a while…  I don’t know.  I stop fighting, and it stops hurting so bad.  They’re taking turns, one after another, taking their time and laughing and making jokes and saying all sorts of things, and I just… stop.”

Tony closes his eyes.  He can’t help the unbidden images coming into his all-too vivid imagination.  Steve, crushed under the hands that were cruelly holding him down, silent and choking, face wet with tears and blood, eyes open and empty as it happens…  Defeated.  _Surrendering._   He’s never seen Steve surrender, never imagined it possible.

Steve’s soft words pull him from his thoughts.  “The funny thing is while it’s happening, I can see through their legs out of the alley.  They’re standing around me in a crowd to watch like it’s some goddamn _spectacle_ , and I can see street…  There are people there.  All kinds of people.  People walking and talking and doing whatever else they have to do.  And I know they hear it.  They can hear what’s happening.  They can _see_ what’s happening.  Some of them even look down the alley, and they have to see it, see me, see them doing this to me…”  Steve gets paler, and his lips tremble.  “I scream and pray and tell myself it’s almost over.  Someone’s coming to help.  Someone’s coming to stop it.  These people…  They’ll save me.”

That anger twists Steve’s face again.  He glares at nothing with glazed, furious eyes.  “But no one does.  _No one stops._   No one helps.  They just mind their own business, _turn away_ , and keep going.”  Tears leak down his face in a steady stream.  It’s obvious that this hurts him, maybe the most out of everything.  _This._   His voice turns weak, twisted up in a strained whisper.  “And I…  I keep thinking…  I keep thinking that _I_ stopped.  I helped.  I helped her.  Why isn’t anyone helping me?”

Tony doesn’t have an answer, even if Steve’s actually looking for one.  There’s no good reason for how people can be so indifferent to the suffering of others.  There are the obvious explanations, he supposes.  Someone not wanting to risk his or her own safety.  Someone being afraid.  Someone being disgusted.  He supposes the fact that Steve’s a man only added to the unlikelihood of someone intervening on his behalf.  With all the stigma attached to the issue back then…  _There’s no excuse._

Steve sucks in a deep breath, blinking a few times and shaking his head more.  He snaps out of his haze.  “Anyway, they’re finally done with me.  Then comes the beating I thought I’d face.  After everything else, I hardly felt it.  Hardly remember it.  Almost welcomed it.”  He gives a wry, broken laugh.  “I must have passed out because I wake up alone in the alley, still laying there, half naked and cold and covered in beer and…”  He doesn’t finish.  Tony doesn’t want him to.  Instead Steve sniffles hard, muscles going taut anew, and wipes more forcefully at his face.  “Somehow I get myself up.  Get back home.  I honestly don’t remember much of that either.  The next thing that’s clear is…”  He bites his lower lip hard.  “I’m in the bathtub in the parlor.  The water’s cold, dirty, bloody…  I must have been there in a while.  I, um…  They did a number on me.  A really bad one.  I knew it right away, the more I got brave enough to let myself look and feel.  But there wasn’t anywhere I could go.  No hospital that’d take me given what happened.  Nowhere to get help.  Nobody with me who wouldn’t… turn me in for indecency.  I just…  I scrubbed off what I could and locked the door and went to bed.  I figured…”  He closes his eyes again.  “I figured there wasn’t much I could do.  Like before.  I could fight, but it probably wouldn’t matter one way or another, so I just… stopped again.  And for while as I was lying there…  I thought if this was it, if I got sick from this or my asthma took me down or they hurt me worse than I thought and it was too much…  If I didn’t wake up the next day, maybe it’d be for the best.”

That breaks Tony’s heart all over again.  He doesn’t say anything, watching as Steve gathers himself.  Steve wipes away the last of his tears, sniffling more, and takes another breath.  This one is deeper and calmer.  “Obviously I woke up.”  He gives a weak smile over something that’s not at all funny.  “Couple weeks after that, Bucky came back.  I think he always knew something happened, but I never told him what.  He couldn’t see the damage.  Plus by then the worst of the bruising was gone, and I could sit without wincing.”

Tony winces himself.  _The damage._ “Steve–”

“I couldn’t tell him,” Steve confesses, like it’s some monumental failing.  “It was easier to just forget it ever happened.  Besides, he had enough on his mind with shipping out.  He worried about me all the time.  He didn’t need to more.  And…  And it didn’t matter, anyway.  Few months later, I was Captain America, and the serum erased all the scars.”

That’s utterly mind-boggling, to write the whole thing off like that.  _A few months later._   Whatever marks those monsters left on Steve just vanished with Project: Rebirth.  Steve became Captain America, and the serum hid everything, hid all of this, this painful truth and terrible secret.  Tony isn’t sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.  It sure as hell isn’t fair.  “You never told _anyone_?” he asks, trying not to sound as horrified as he feels.

Steve shrugs a bit, still seeming ashamed.  “Didn’t see the point.  No one could do anything.  Plus I went to war right after it happened, and there was no time to think about it.  Then waking up here…  And the Chitauri and the Avengers and everything with us…”  Steve sighs again.  “I…  I should have told you.  I know that.  But it happened seventy years ago.  It’s over and done with.  The men who did it probably don’t remember doing it, if they’re even alive at all.  There’s no record of anything.  It’s like it never happened, so there didn’t seem to be any reason to say anything to anyone.  I pushed it down and ignored it.  Built walls around it and kept it quiet.  It was…  It’s just this thing that happened, like a nightmare that’s not really real, and I could ignore it.  At least, I thought I could, until we started…”  He smiles weakly.  “Until I met you.”

What he’s left unspoken is clear.  Tony rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.  “Until I asked you to spend the night.”  Steve nods.  That seemingly innocuous act opened the floodgates, it seems, and let everything Steve hid behind those walls out.  It caused all of this.  Had Tony known…  _There’s no way I could have known._   Considering how often he beats himself up, that realization comes surprisingly easy.  He turns his gaze back to Steve, holding it there even if Steve’s returned to looking away.  “It wasn’t about sex.  I mean, yes, I want that eventually, but that wasn’t what I wanted when I asked.  I just wanted you with me, close to me.  I wasn’t trying to pressure you into my bed–”

“I know,” Steve assures him.  “I know that.  And I kept trying to tell myself that, but I couldn’t make myself listen.  And the more you asked and hinted, and the closer we got…  I got scared, Tony.  I knew if we kept seeing each other, eventually we’d have to address it.  Eventually you _would_ be asking about sex.  It’s bad enough that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing most the time.  You do.  God, you do.  You’re so _smart_ and so good and so strong…”  Tony’s heart thumps with a mixture of pain and relief.  “And I can’t…  I don’t know if I can…  You’ll want things, and you’d find out about this, and…”

“You think I wouldn’t want you anymore?” Tony asks.  It’s not an accusation, but Steve flushes in embarrassment all the same and nods.  Tony’s not insulted in the least.  He can only imagine what a common response that may be among victims of sexual assault.  “Never.  That’ll never happen.  There will _never_ come a day when I don’t want you, when I don’t think you’re the most amazing, beautiful person I’ve ever met.”  It’s clear Steve’s not buying what he’s saying.  Not right now, when he’s feeling this low.  And Tony can’t stand it, can’t stand for him to feel this way.  For all he’s agonized about it, the words come really easy.  This is the right time.  “There will never come a day when I don’t love you.”

Steve’s blue eyes are bright and clear when they snap to him.  Bright, clear, and stunning.  S _earching_.  “You love me?” he whispers, like he can’t believe it.  Like he can’t fathom _he’s_ worthy of that.

Tony smiles.  “I have for a while, but I was…  Well, I was scared, too.  I kept thinking you couldn’t possibly want me, with all the times I’ve fucked up in the past and probably will fuck up in the future.  And then you started pulling away, and I was scared I’d already come on too strong, so if I said anything…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

“No, you don’t need to apologize.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”  Steve still doesn’t look convinced, but he nods.  Tony takes a bit of a risk and lifts their joined hands to kiss Steve’s knuckles.  “ _We_ didn’t do anything wrong.  And we’ll figure this out together, okay?  If you want to.  If you want me to help.”

“I want you.”  Steve’s voice is hardly anything.  “I do.  I do so much!  I…  I love you, too.”

That’s all Tony’s dreamed of hearing.  It’s like this vise around his heart is loosening, and all the terrible, painful pressure that’s been squeezing tighter and tighter is gone.  He reaches up a hand to cup Steve’s face, his thumb sweeping across his cheek to catch the last bit of wetness there.  Steve manages a weak smile, one that gets stronger as Tony smiles himself.  He leans in for a kiss, and Steve obliges him.  Despite all the times they’ve kissed before, this feels new.  Tender and timid and a little uncertain.  Tony waits for Steve to want more, and Steve does after a moment, deepening the contact and leaning more into Tony’s hands.

When they break, Tony tips his forehead to Steve’s.  “I want this with you, too.  I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for you to feel okay with it, with me.  You’re right; I can’t fix this.  But I swear to you that I’ll do everything in power to make it right, to make you feel good and safe and happy.”

“You do, Tony.  You already do!”

“And the offer stands.  If you want me to find someone for you to talk to…”  Steve shivers to that.  “Listen, I really think it will make a difference.  I spent so much time trying to outrun my problems.  I partied and drank and ignored things and tinkered…  And all it did was hurt more.  So trust me when I tell you it’s not worth hiding from it.”

Steve closes his eyes wearily.  “I trust you.”

Tony tries not to show just how much that means to him.  “It takes a long time, but turning around and facing it is what brought me here, to you.  It’s worth it.  I swear to you it is.”  Steve nods.  Tony brushes his hair from back from his face.  “You shouldn’t have to bury something like this, not for anyone.  Not for me.  Not even for Captain America.  You’re right, you know?  For everyone else – for the _bastards_ who touched you – yeah, it’s been seventy years.  For you?  Only a few, and that’s hardly any time at all.”

“I know,” Steve murmurs.

Tony cups his face and lifts it so their eyes meet.  “And what happened today can’t happen again, not in battle.  You could’ve been hurt.  You could’ve gotten someone else hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Tony says again.  “You don’t have to apologize for this.  You just need to let us – let me – help you.  You’re not alone anymore.  We’re here.  We’re with you.  _I’m_ with you.  And we’re not going to turn our backs and leave you to be hurt.  Okay?”

It takes a moment for Steve to gather himself, but he does.  And he nods.  “Okay.”

Tony’s heart is brimming with joy.  “Okay.”  He kisses Steve again, gently, cradling his face.  It feels so good.  That sense of being loved, of being needed, of being part of something bigger and better than him and more special…  It comes rushing back, a tidal wave of purpose and comfort.  He loses himself in it.  This is okay.

It really is.

Steve leans into him, and Tony wraps his arms around him.  Steve’s own arms go around Tony’s back, hugging tight.  Tony smiles into his shoulder a bit.  “So I guess this means you’re undumping me?”

Steve laughs a little, pulling back.  “Yeah, seems that way.”

“Good.”  Tony gives him a cheeky grin.  “Then in the interest of open communication and starting fresh, I’m going to ask you straight up: would you be interested in sharing this bed with me tonight?”  He spreads a hand to the bunk on which they’re sitting.  “Now, admittedly, this is not as nice as the swanky hotel in Paris I was going to reserve.  It’s nowhere near as nice as my bed in my penthouse or in my workshop.  Hell, it’s not even as nice as my couch.”  Steve chuckles, wiping at his cheek again.  “It’s kinda small.  Kinda drab and ugly.  Probably about as comfy and roomy as sleeping in a closet.”  Tony glances around for a second or two, making a show of appraising their accommodations.  He pats the thin, crappy mattress like he’s testing it.  “But I think it’ll serve its purpose.  And there will be strictly no touching below the belt, so to speak.  My intentions toward you are purely innocent, I promise.”

A soft, tired smile graces Steve’s lips.  “And what do you intend exactly?”

“Obviously to hold you close and never let you go.”

That little smile gets bigger until it fills Steve’s face, until it shines in his eyes.  “Funny.  Those are my intentions, too.”

A couple minutes later, they’re snuggled up on the tiny bunk.  Two grown men don’t entirely fit in the small space, but they make it work.  Steve has his back to the wall, and Tony’s bundled up in his arms.  It takes a moment for Steve to relax completely.  He does, though, with Tony rubbing his back and kissing his lips and keeping him near.  Eventually he falls asleep.  Tony watches it happen, feels so honored, so good and so right.  This is absolutely, beyond any doubt, _undeniably_ what he wants, what he needs.  What they both need.  And he’s never felt so at peace, so complete, as he does here.

This night together is the first of many, the first of the rest of their lives.  The ones that come after aren’t always easy.  Even with help, with the support of their friends and the advice of therapists and their own grit and determination to make this work, they have their moments.  There are times when things hurt too much, where the promise of love and safety isn’t enough to completely overcome the past for either of them.  Where they turn away from each other.

But those moments are few and far in between, and they always turn back to one another.  That’s what love is, what it does.  Tony knows that now more than ever.  They both do.  And they’re working their way up to the harder parts, to doing more than just staying near to each other and sleeping side by side.  To being bare and unguarded and open.  To making love and coming together intimately.  It’s everything they _both_ want.  Kiss by kiss and touch by touch, they’re finding their way.  This is fine.  One day, they’ll get there.

Until then, Tony’s more than happy to wait.

**THE END**


End file.
